


Bullying

by Guinevere81



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Harassment, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, suspected suicide attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2018-08-21 20:53:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 14,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8260198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guinevere81/pseuds/Guinevere81
Summary: James is being bullied at work. This was supposed to be a one shot which sort of grew on me and developed beyond its intended scope. Alinea took a liking to it on fanfiction net so I'm transferring it here with the plan to continue it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alinea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alinea/gifts).



James doesn’t mind when Robbie calls him clever-clogs or smartarse, he doesn’t mind when innocent teasingly calls him the boy wonder because he knows they don’t mean any harm. It usually sounds like they mean quite the opposite. There is something affectionate in the way that they say it, a twinkle in their eyes and a smile that suggests acceptance, maybe even friendship.

When Hooper does it the feeling that gathers in James’ chest is very different. He hadn’t minded so much the first few times but it’s the disgust in Hooper’s tone that makes James hand tremble slightly and a lump gather in his stomach.

It’s unpleasant, uncomfortable to start with, but bearable, as long as it was just Hooper. But Hooper had friends and the snickers grew more frequent. He isn’t even surprised when the practical jokes start.

Turning up one morning to find his chair seat had been drenched with water and ending up looking like he had wet himself for the better part of the morning had been bad enough but things quickly escalated. Someone swaps one of his CD’s for one with a virus on and ends up wiping his entire laptop clean losing him days if not weeks of work, both actual work and private material he had been storing on the hard drive.


	2. Chapter 2

One day he picks his lunch up from the fridge and biting into his sandwich he finds it crawling with worms.

That is when Lewis first picks up on something being wrong. James spits his lunch out into its plastic container and bolts, green faced, from the room. Before following him Robbie quickly glances into the lunch box and sees the squirming mess of partially dismembered worms. It’s almost enough to make him gag. He’s not surprised therefore when he finds James in the bathroom, pale and shaky, rinsing his mouth out enthusiastically.

‘Are you alright lad?’ Robbie asks, placing a hesitant hand on James’ back.

‘Mm, fine.’ James mumbles but he doesn’t sound fine at all.

‘That was nasty. Who did that to you? Do you know?’ Robbie asked.

James shook his head. He had his suspicions but making an actual accusation required proof and he had none.

‘You take your time, I’ll go pick you up a new sandwich.’ Robbie offered, giving James’ shoulder a quick squeeze.

‘No sandwich sir. I can’t’ James shudders and Robbie nods sympathetically.

‘Some chips then?’ he suggests. He knows James is partial to chips and the slight smile that creeps onto the young man’s face is confirmation enough that he has said the right thing.

‘Salt and lots of Sarson’s vinegar.’ James nods and Robbie could have sworn he could actually see colour return to his cheeks.

When Robbie returns with the chips James is sat at his desk typing away at something or other, looking decidedly more healthy. The box with the worm filled sandwich had disappeared and James gratefully accepts the Styrofoam container of chips with a heartfelt ‘Thank you, sir.’


	3. Chapter 3

It takes a while after the sandwich incident before Lewis once again becomes aware that something is amiss. He doesn’t notice the e-mails which drop into James’ inbox at regular intervals to tell him that he’s a show off, a sad toff, an overrated snob and any number of other unimaginative insults.

He doesn’t notice when someone slashes the tyres of James’ car because James elects not to tell him why his car is in the garage.

He doesn’t realise that the reason why James isn’t at the drinks reception for the two new sergeants joining the department is because his name has been left off the invite list. He merely assumes James had something better to do.

What he does notice is when in the middle of a conversation James upon opening his desk drawer screams and leaps back sending his chair skittering. In an instant Robbie is on his feet and across the office at his partner’s side. The reason for James’ reaction is instantly clear. Several large house spiders are crawling out of the drawer.

One spider might have been an accident, even at a stretch two, but the six large arachnids in James’ desk drawer are certainly not accidental.

‘It’ll probably rain tomorrow but this has to be done.’ Robbie says in a calm voice before unceremoniously squashing the spiders one at a time.

‘Thank you.’ James whispers before slumping to the floor, head between his knees.

‘Woa, easy there lad’ Robbie crouched down beside James who had started to tremble visibly. He tries to hide his shaking hands by shoving his fingers into the short strands of hair at the top of his head tugging slightly.

‘Hey, pulling your hair out at the roots isn’t going to make them stop.’ He places a hand on James’ shoulder and squeezes lightly.

James goes still, seemingly managing to stop the trembling by sheer force of will. When he looks up his eyes are shiny but determined and his voice is surprisingly steady when he asks ‘Make who stop what?’’

‘I’m not stupid James.’ Robbie chides. ‘That was intentional.’ He points at the drawer in James’ desk. ‘Just like the worms were intentional, and don’t think for a second you’re the only person who’s noticed the increase in digs about the graduate entry program.’ Robbie finds himself actually raising his voice unintentionally. He isn’t really angry with James, he’s angry at what is being done to him.

‘It’s all in jest, water off a duck’s back.’ James tries and Robbie isn’t buying it for a second.

‘If it was you wouldn’t be sat on the floor with your head between your knees. They hit you where they knew it would hurt but wouldn’t leave a mark. They know you wouldn’t be able to prove that those weren’t an accident.’ He pointed at the drawer again even though the spiders had now been squashed into tissues and deposited in the bin.

‘Is that a metaphor sir?’ James asked with a sly grin. He was no longer looking quite so pale and it was obvious that he was recovering and in so doing was shutting down all discussion of the subject.

‘You should talk to innocent about it.’ He suggests with a final nod before getting up from the floor with a groan. He extends a hand to James who takes it and much more smoothly gets to his feet.


	4. Chapter 4

After the incident with the spiders Robbie starts to pay more attention to the gossip and snide remarks of the break room. He’s never been one to listen to idle gossip but he’s an experienced enough copper to know that the kind of sly attacks James seems to be suffering do not spring out of a vacuum. He’s not quite sure, however, if it is a case of simple schoolyard bullying or someone systematically trying to torture his Sergeant. Once he’s spent more than a few fleeting moments considering it he realises that there isn’t really much of a difference between the two, not aside from the level of maturity of the perpetrator. Not that anyone who acts like that can be considered mature.

He’s not particularly surprised therefore when he keeps hearing James name whispered from behind coffee mugs. Usually it is connected to phrases such as pathetic show-off or barely closeted fag or simply snob or posh git. A few times Robbie tries to engage. He’ll ask them to please repeat themselves or ask them what the hell they think they’re saying. Invariably he will get a mumbled ‘nothing sir’ or a blatant lie… ‘just discussing a suspect.’ And he hates it, hates it even more when leaving the room he can hear their titters.

James can tell instantly when Robbie starts to defend him. Not because things get better but because they get infinitely worse.

There has always been hints and suggestions regarding his devotion to his Governor. Originally they had been more of the ‘poor chap has daddy issues’ and ‘sad mongrel looking for acceptance’ variety. After Will and Zoe and the whole debacle with ‘the Garden’ however things had got trickier as he had desperately tried to neutralise the fallout of that case and what it suggested about him.

It wasn’t that he minded being called gay specifically, he just minded anyone discussing and speculating about his sexuality in any way shape or form. He didn’t do sex, he didn’t do love and if he didn’t feel a need to speculate about why then he didn’t think anyone else had a right to either.

All of that had been so infinitely much easier before, when he had not done kindness and caring either. Not that he was unkind or cruel, he was courteous beyond measure and always respectful and polite but he never let people in. That is he hadn’t been letting people in before Robbie. Robbie who had shown himself like an open book the first time they met, turning up in that silly shirt and making James drive him to his wife’s grave first thing off the flight. Robbie had been an open book, but James liked books, particularly ones which while easily read could always surprise him.

No surprise then that he liked Robbie, and with liking came caring. Caring and liking were all too closely related to wanting and loving for there not to be speculation when spoken of in relation to the male equivalent of the office ice queen.  
There was a fine line, however, between speculation and gossip, yet another line between gossip and taunting and they had now reached the point where taunting was turning into cruelty.

The condoms he found tucked in his post box could possibly be taken in good humour. The dildo with Robbie written in permanent marker along the shaft was more crude but since it was delivered to his home and not in the office he could pretend it had never arrived.


	5. Chapter 5

It was the cartoons that tipped him over the edge. The first was a striking caricature of himself dressed in a long gown with a halo over his head. He was kneeling, head bent and hands held out before him in prayer. Before him an altar upon which sat Lewis, much less of a caricature, more just a stylised portrait. He found it taped to the screen of his computer when he arrived in the morning.

It made James blush and his chest constrict painfully. He wasn’t sure if what he felt was anger, embarrassment, frustration or just pain. Regardless, he hated it, hated the idea that this was how people viewed him, that this might be how his boss viewed him. Heedless of the fact that said man was supposed to turn up at the office any minute James stormed out. He bought two double espresso’s and smoked four cigarettes before buzzing with caffeine and nicotine he returned to the office.

When Lewis scolded him for being late he snapped at him blaming traffic and reminding Lewis of the fact that he is almost always first in the office. For a second he thinks they are going to argue. It would be preferable to James’ initial instinct, which had been to lower his gaze and politely apologise. That would have been far too close to replicating the cartoon from that morning.

Instead of snapping back Robbie frowns. James is looking a little manic, his hands are trembling and he seems skittish. He’s probably just high on nicotine, the scent coming off the lad is rather like an ashtray at the moment. It’s more the cause of the nicotine binge that is worrying Robbie than the physical symptoms of it. Something must have happened, and so he drops the issue, doesn’t reprimand James for his cheek and drops the issue of his late arrival.

Where once James had been thrilled to head off to work, now every morning fills him with dread as he drags himself out of bed and reluctantly takes his car to the office. Days when they get to spend most of the day out of the office, hunting down suspects and interviewing witnesses are a reprieve of sorts. Lewis still treats him the same even if a slight tint of concern will appear in his eyes from time to time. James tries to hide the fact that he’s smoking way more than before and that he seems to unintentionally be shedding weight at a frustrating rate. He wears layers to try to bulk up but he knows he won’t be able to keep it up indefinitely. He needs to eat more but eating in the office is completely out and all the smoking is killing his appetite anyway and half the time he seems to be walking around with an uncomfortable lump in his stomach that just makes trying to eat seem like a really unappealing idea.


	6. Chapter 6

When the second cartoon tips him over the edge James hasn’t eaten anything other than coffee and a slice of toast for 36 hours and his hands are already trembling when he reaches out for the envelope wedged behind his keyboard. He hesitates to open it. He’s not alone in the office and he suspects that the contents of the innocent looking envelope will be unpleasant. The lack of any writing on it sets off warning bells in the back of his exhausted and nutrition deprived mind. He wonders sluggishly whether he will be able to not react to whatever is in it but he’ll be damned if he is going to walk around all day and worry about it.  
  
Slipping the envelope into his pocket he heads for the gents, promising Lewis that he will be right back. When he gets into a stall he locks himself in and with trembling hands open the envelope and take out the piece of cardboard inside. It’s the size of a regular postcard and on it is another cartoon.  
  
The skinny young man on his knees with an older man’s cock in his mouth is clearly supposed to be James and for a second he assumes that the man he is servicing must be supposed to be his boss. The heading in bold letters at the top of the card which reads ‘Sleeping your way to the top…’ seems to fit the bill. Heart hammering and eyes watering he slams the picture down on the floor face down and sees that there is a picture on the back as well ’20 years later the act is getting old…’ the heading reads and the picture below is of James bent over his desk evidently being thoroughly buggered by his boss.  
  
20 years later? James goes cold. He’s already starting to hyperventilate when he turns the card over to confirm that what he had first thought was a desk behind the two men in the picture is in fact a grand piano, and of course the suit the younger of the two are wearing is not a proper suit at all, with its stripy tie it’s clearly supposed to be a school uniform. Tears are flowing freely down his face as he falls to his knees heaving into the toilet. There is nothing in his stomach but bile and his throat burns with the sting of it. They know, how the hell do they know. He wants to kill Paul Hopkiss, he wants to kill himself for ever admitting he lived at Crevecoeur hall.  
  
His heart is pounding, his breathing is all over the place and he has never felt so cold in his life. If it was not so painful he would laugh as his intellectual brain tells him that he’s clearly having a panic attack. It’s never happened before but unless he’s actually dying it’s the only explanation. God he thinks he might prefer if he was actually dying.  
  
He has to get out of there. He’ll tell Lewis he’s not feeling well, blame a stomach bug. He’ll figure it out at home. He’ll have to resign won’t he? Find another job, go somewhere else? Emigrate? But that would mean losing Lewis, ending up alone again. He’d rather die, and isn’t that a though. He could take the Will McEwan way out, blow his brains out, never have to hurt like this again.  
  
Heart still pounding in his ears he somehow manages to slow down his breathing somewhat and on unsteady legs he stumbles out of the stall washes his face and stares in the mirror. He’s a wreck and he knows his boss will be able to see it. He’ll wonder, but he can’t force James to tell him what’s wrong. James puts the card in his pocket, he’ll dispose of it later. For right now he just has to get the hell out of this building.


	7. Chapter 7

Formulating a suitably facetious excuse for his boss about not feeling well and has he been putting arsenic in his coffee or is it really the prawns this time, and would it be alright if he went home for the day? James heads for their office on legs that barely hold him up. Halfway there he meets PCs Hooper and Martell and he knows as soon as they spot him that they know of and have seen the card. They snicker and whisper something to each other and James tries not to react. He stiffens his back and tries to act like he hasn’t a care in the world. He tries to paste a solid mask onto his face but spots dance before his eyes and he has to stop and steady himself against a chair.  
.  
‘You alright sir, is the sight of so much manliness making your knees weak?’ Martell asks with a wink and then, crossing yet another line he rests a hand on James’ shoulder in mock comfort and places the other behind him. The hand lands at the small of his back but instantly it slides down fingers caressing James bum, the thumb just pressing lightly against the crack between James’ cheeks and  
.  
the fear and shame that rushes through James is entirely familiar and completely overwhelming.  
.  
He wants to scream but all that comes out is a weak sob and a steady stream of fresh tears as he stumbles away from the two PCs. The world is swimming in and out of focus. James is totally mortified when he feels his legs grow warm and smells the tinge of ammonia that is so characteristic of human urine. He sobs desperately and then his knees give way and he topples forward landing heavily on his elbow which breaks his fall before his head impacts the floor. Even so the world goes briefly black and silent and he thinks he’s going to pass out.  
.  
He doesn’t. He’s still keenly aware of the immense pressure in his chest and a distant buzzing of worried voices somewhere seemingly far away. He’s cold and frightened and in pain and if this isn’t dying he doesn’t know what is. He tries to throw up again, his stomach revolting but it results in nothing more than a thin trickle of bile dribbling out of the corner of his mouth.  
.  
Suddenly something soft and warm lands on him. It isn’t just warm because it adds extra layers but it carries bodily warmth from another human being. Half of that warmth is not physical but related to the soft smell of the silky fabric.  
.  
It smells of detergent and a familiar cheap male cologne but also more faintly of sweat, coffee and something else that James can’t define. It has the same effect that his familiar teddy bear used to have on him as a child and he clutches it desperately to his chest, crumpling it to him and breathing in the scent as his heart gradually beats a little slower.  
.  
The world around him is coming more into focus again. He’s suddenly keenly aware of a warm hand rubbing circles on the back of his neck and even before he blinks his eyes open to see Lewis’ frightened eyes looking back at him he has registered that the comforting smell is that of his boss. It will take somewhat longer to register that the origin of the smell was originally having Lewis’ jacket placed over him, which he is now desperately clutching to his chest, and then having his head cushioned in his boss’ lap.  
.  
The comfort of it is in equal measures mortifying and liberating. While he feels gradually less like he’s dying he also becomes increasingly aware of just how horrifyingly embarrassing this situation is. He may no longer feel like he’s dying but part of him honestly wishes he was dead. That however is not the part that is resting his head in his boss’ lap having his hair gently stroked by a strong calloused hand.  
.  
‘That’s it, just breathe, come back to me pet.’ The voice above him urges and James lets out a weak pained whimper as he reluctantly pushes himself into a half sitting position so he can look his boss in the eyes properly.  
.  
He’s still trembling, he’s terribly weak and his right arm isn’t working the way it should but he manages to raise himself a few inches above the ground with a weak groan.  
.  
‘Easy, easy, here, let me help.’ The steady voice of Robbie Lewis promises as the hand brushing his hair comes down to steady his shoulders and carefully lifts him into a semi upright position.  
.  
The world tilts frighteningly and James wines softly as he feels his stomach revolt again. Yet the sensation is less overwhelming this time and careful hands pull him into a half upright embrace resting back against his boss’ strong chest.  
.  
He should be mortified, what with the cartoons and the wetting himself and everyone knowing but after the past few minutes of being sure he was going to die… hell after the past few months honestly wishing he would die because clearly everyone wanted him dead anyway… the loving, gentle touch of someone wishing him no ill will is too wonderful to relinquish.  
.  
Ten minutes after his original collapse the ambulance arrives and they are surprisingly understanding. They inject him with something that makes him feel like he is floating about an inch above himself and which effectively stops the sobbing and the tears and makes his eyelids heavy. They let him keep his desperate hold of the jacket he is clutching like a lifeline and while they lift him onto a stretcher, essentially removing him from Lewis’ lap they instruct the older man to maintain body contact.  
James misses the support of the strong chest behind his back but a warm hand wraps around his trembling one and another comes up to cup his cheek, brushing away his tears and while he is exhausted beyond belief he’s less frightened now and something in him has registered that he isn’t really ten years old, he’s not helpless and he’s not alone.  
.  
Halfway to the hospital James hand goes slack in Robbie’s grasp and he almost panics before the medics assure him that James is simply asleep. The past half an hour has been like an emotional roller coaster.


	8. Chapter 8

Robbie had felt slight concern when he saw his sergeant leave the office with stiff posture, attempting to hide the envelope that had sat at his desk when they returned from their interview. Well aware that the young man had recently been exposed to some less than salacious practical jokes he wondered as he saw him leave if it had been better if Robbie had himself checked the contents of the blank envelope.

Twenty minutes later when he is already beginning to wonder if he should head off to look for James a panicked looking secretary pops her head into his office and exclaims in a frightened voice that ‘he is needed because Hathaway has sort of collapsed... ‘

Robbie has no idea what to expect when he bursts from the office in search of his sergeant but what he finds is more terrifying than anything he might have imagined. James is curled up on the floor in the foetal position. He’s sobbing with tears streaming down his face despite the fact that he has his eyes squeezed shut. Whether he is trembling from cold or fear is hard to tell but as Robbie yells to all and sundry to ask if they have called an ambulance, which apparently they have, he shrugs out of his jacket and with infinite care places it over the trembling shape on the floor. Why has no one done this already when the poor lad is so clearly shivering?

James whimpers and brings a shaking hand up to clutch at the edge of the jacket. He covers his face with the fabric and takes a shuddering breath which seems to relax him somewhat. Robbie is not oblivious to the snide remarks passed among the audience which is viewing him trying to take care of James but he files it away for later. Somehow he manages to put up blinkers that filter out all words in the region of ‘pathetic, weak, queer, childish’ and the like.

He knows that given time he will explode, he will demand retribution and hang them all out to dry but right now none of that matters. It doesn’t matter because Jim doesn’t stop sobbing as Robbie carefully lifts him onto his lap, he cries harder and clutching Robbie’s jacket as though it was a comfort blanket he curls up against Robbie’s chest.

James’ hair is soft under Robbie’s measured touch and slowly it calms the older man’s racing heart. It’s still beating too fast but now it’s with a worry of what on earth is going on and how Hathaway will deal with it, not a fear that he may lose him altogether. Because for a moment there, when he had exited his office and seen James curled up on the floor, face ashen and body shaking and expelling bodily fluids, he had thought seizure, heart attack, dying… where a now calmer more measured reaction was saying that while those were all possible… a panic attack or acute stress reaction, even he had learnt not to call it shock these days, was much more likely given the tears and the trembling.

The paramedics arrive and while they take James away from him they allow Robbie to keep a strong hold of James’ left hand. They gently cut the sleeve off both jacket and shirt on the right side after discovering that James can’t move his fingers. Seemingly simultaneously they check his oxygen saturation which is settling, his blood pressure which is still way to high and his blood glucose which is low enough to make one of the medics hurriedly mix something up and inject it in the IV which had been affixed to James’ arm.

‘He’ll be alright, we’ll just take him along to have him checked out.’ One of the medics promises and while it explains nothing it is somewhat calming.

Robbie thinks the hours spent in A&E are probably more stressful for him than they are for James who is mostly asleep. Asleep might be a generous term for it when really he is clearly sedated but regardless he is dead to the world and the doctors assure him that it is the healing kind of oblivion, not the kind that indicates serious brain injury.

Once the bruise starts to appear of James’ temple the doctors grow more concerned and cart him off to have his head scanned before he has even had time to have his damaged arm x-rayed. Apparently the results are good unlike the eventual x-rays which make the doctor frown and declare that James will need pins.

Apparently the combination of sedation and expectant surgery, compounded with the mild concussion means they are keeping James around and he’s stuck into a room which Robbie can’t quite decide if it is meant to be a ward room or an A&E cubicle. Still it is more or less private and quiet apart from the soft sounds from the monitors keeping an eye on James’ vital statistics.

It’s half eleven at night when a nurse finally tells Robbie that he’s not allowed to stay the night and needs to go home and get some rest. James is expected to be more alert in the morning, at least after his surgery which is scheduled for nine o’clock. He’s advised to come back in twelve hours and grudgingly agrees.


	9. Chapter 9

Getting outside Robbie turns his phone on and realises he has eight missed calls from Innocent. He calls back intending to leave a message but is surprised to find that she has her work phone on even though it is nearly midnight.  
  
‘How is he?’ She promptly demands and Robbie takes a shuddering breath, trying to think and summarise past his own worry.  
  
‘He’s okay. They’re saying it was some sort of panic attack. He fractured his elbow in the fall and got a mild concussion hitting his head on the floor but it seems neither is very serious. They’re putting pins in his elbow tomorrow morning and then he’ll be sent home.  
  
‘Thank God.’ Innocent breathes a sigh of relief and Robbie can’t help but feel that it is somewhat premature.  
  
‘I’m sorry mam, but I have something to report, I should have done it weeks ago, months ago, oh god I should have reported the very first time I heard a comment.’ His voice breaks and his breath hitches as past instances come rushing back to him. Laughing in the break room when someone, he thinks it might have been Hooper joked about ‘the annoying brains trust’, teasing James for being smart when really he knew it was jealousy speaking… And Crevecoeur, why had he not forced James to get counselling? Fair enough that he didn’t believe in the benefits of the shrinks but that didn’t excuse that he had turned a blind eye to the fact that James had been forced to sit in his own former living room interviewing a musical prodigy when Robbie was well aware that James had more than cursory talents in that apartment. And things had only got worse from there… That business with the girl, Scarlet and then James had been shot and in retrospect Robbie couldn’t believe that he had allowed the lad to refuse hospital treatment.  
  
‘Robbie, Robbie breath, where are you. I’m coming to get you.’ He heard faintly from very far away and he found himself sitting on the tarmac next to his car leaning heavily against the fender.  
  
‘A&E car park. God Jean what have I done?’ He groaned and buried his face in his knees.  
  
Despite calm middle of night traffic it takes Jean Innocent more than twenty minutes to drive to the A&E car park. Once there however she has no trouble locating Robbie who has got up to sit in the driver’s seat but without even attempting to drive away. In semi silence she tucks him into her own car, calls a PC to come pick up Lewis’ car keys and take care of his abandoned car and then drives to Robbie’s flat where she hesitates between handing him a whiskey or a cup of tea. Only her biased desire to get a clear account of what the hell is going on settles her for the latter.  
  
Tea brewed she pushes an exhausted Robbie Lewis onto the sofa and sits down next to him.  
  
‘Ok Robbie tell me what happened.’ She orders calmly and Robbie hesitates before getting up and getting the card he had taken out of James’ soiled trousers. He hesitantly hands it over to his boss.  
  
Jean Innocent stares at the card in her hand. It is hand drawn , slightly stained with yellow along one edge and a little bent out of shape. She stares at the image. She has no problem identifying the young man bent over a simple desk as being Sergeant Hathaway, nor to identify the bored looking older man bent over him in a very compromising position as being Lewis. ’20 years later the act is getting old…’ it means nothing to her and she frowns as she puts the picture down looking up at Lewis for an explanation she feels decidedly uncomfortable asking for.  
  
Robbie closes his eyes for a second before he takes the plunge and reaches out to turn the picture over to reveal things he feels are really James’ to keep or release.  
  
Jean looks at the picture for a few second her frown deepening.  
  
‘Mortmaigne. James lived at Crevecoeur.’ Robbie explains and he watches as the implications slowly dawn on their boss.  
  
Robbie isn’t prepared to discuss that particular aspect of their current problem so he decides to skirt around it, ‘It’s not the first time. I know I should have said something.’ He offers.  
  
Jean looks at the card, reads the comments and processes what they might possibly mean.  
  
‘I take it this is supposed to be you?’ she eventually asks, pointing to the cartoon of Robbie and James bent over a desk. Robbie nods awkwardly.  
  
‘Ok, I’m sorry but I have to ask. Is there any truth to this?’ she manages to push out and Robbie goes horribly scarlet.  
  
‘No mam, of course not. I care for the lad but not like that. I would never, honestly…’ Robbie trails off, not sure how to defend himself.  
  
‘Ok Robbie. I believe you but why then did you say “what have I done”?’ She asked despite not really wanting to know.  
  
‘Just Crevecoeur mam. I knew something was wrong. I just didn’t know what. I should have taken him off the case at the start. I should have asked about Mortmaigne and…’ Robbie hesitates about how to finish that sentence.  
  
‘Robbie, if what that card says about you and him is untrue, why do you think what it implies about him and Montaigne is any more true?’ Innocent asks sipping her tea.  
  
It’s a valid question and for a moment Robbie hesitates, unsure. ‘Something was off with him during that case… hell he got shot and he didn’t even seem to react’  
  
‘It’s not really about that though.’ Robbie sighs and pushes on ‘They’ve been tormenting him for months. ‘They put maggots in his sandwich and spiders in his desk and the nasty things they’ve been saying behind his back. I don’t know how to stop it but it has to stop.’  
  
Silence reigns for a few moments as Jean takes this all in.  
  
‘Are you telling me he is being bullied?’ She finally asks in a very concerned but tired voice, it is half one in the morning after all.  
  
‘Yes, it’s been going on for months I don’t even know when it started. I told him he should report it to you but I should have reported it.’ Robbie looks close to tears and Jeans heart goes out to him.  
  
‘Well, you’re reporting it now and I think this is pretty damning evidence’ She waves the card with the two cartoons on it. ‘Get some rest Robbie, you can make a proper complaint tomorrow.’ She gave him a supportive pat on the shoulder before getting up to leave.


	10. Chapter 10

Robbie spends the morning writing a detailed list of any instance he can think of when James has been treated with less than kindness from his colleagues and hands it to Innocent just in time for lunch. It’s frustrating just how hard it is to pinpoint who has said what… he has no idea who was responsible for either the worm or the spider incident and the rest of the circumstantial incidences he has to report look less than damning… There are jokes about being brainy, not always said in front of James… and criticism about things that are impossible to link directly to any one individual. How can he explain how he had been sure that James had been targeted when he’d heard another sergeant give an eloquent speech on why chain smoking was really an oral fixation linked to a sexual desire for the unachievable. It had not been in the words expressed but in the way the woman in question had glaced toward their office and smirked. It was in the way he knew that not that long ago she had made a similar quip about the way some coppers seemed to think knowledge of crime fiction was more important than solving crimes and she’d quoted as her example, not Elizabeth George or Colin Dexter, but Shakespeare, while demonstrably adopting a marked turnout and half chewing, half sucking her thumb in a way that was a clear parody of the nervous mannerisms of a certain someone. 

 

Robbie feels like an utter twat trying to put all of these moments onto paper and make them sound relevant rather than self centered, or rather James centred. He realises that he comes across as overprotective and overly sensitive, but every time his mind tells him he’s overreacting he is brought back to what this is doing to James… and it isn’t the image of James unconscious in hospital the night before that springs to mind, it is the image of his best friend sat on their office floor with his head between his knees vehemently denying that anything is wrong that is fueling him on. He doesn’t care if he sounds silly because someone needs to stand up to what is going on. He hands the report to Innocent with grim determination. He also requests and is granted the afternoon off so that he can go and see James and if he’s up to it take him home.

 

James isn’t in his bed when Robbie arrives and for a second Robbie panics, thinking that James has gotten worse overnight or that something has gone wrong in James’ surgery. The doctors had said it was a straightforward procedure but one never knew, people died from seemingly insignificant surgery all the time. Then he sees the foot peeking out from the side of the high backed chair by the window and he breathes a sigh of relief.

 

‘James, you’re up.’ Robbie says cheerfully as he rounds the chair and take in the now distinctly more healthy looking James. ‘You look so much better.’

 

‘Good to know mortified is a look that suits me.’ James grumbles staring out the window and refusing to meet Robbie’s eye.

 

‘None of that lad. I know they’ve been tormenting you and I found the card.’ For a brief moment James’ eyes lock onto Robbie and there is naked fear in their expression. Then he turns away, staring out of the window again. 

 

‘Sir I…’ James trails off… The silence in the room is not quite uncomfortable but rather thick and pressing. Robbie watches James as he fiddles quietly with the sturdy contraption that is holding his elbow immobilized. He is looking very much like the epitome of the hospital patient with his arm strapped to his body which is covered by a spotted hospital gown that does nothing to hide just how thin he is. There is a nervous energy to him that Robbie would not have said was characteristic of his ever articulate sergeant but which, now that he’s noticed it, he realises has been around for months 

 

‘So, how are you feeling? Apart from unnecessarily embarrassed.’ Robbie asks as he leans against the windowsill, watching James with a more examining eye. The lad could never be accused of being overly cheerful so it’s hard to decide how much of his sombre demeanour is a new development and how much of it is just his personality. 

 

‘I’m fine…’ James’ voice is soft and hesitant, like he doesn’t even quite believe his own lies and he’s still not meeting Robbie’s eye. 

 

‘Did you know that “I’m fine” is defined as the biggest white lie there is by the urban dictionary?’ Robbie asked and to his great surprise and pleasure James’ attention perked up. 

 

‘You know what the urban dictionary is?’ James questions incredulously… 

 

I’ve never been good at simple partners… ‘ Robbie admits, ‘Morse made me learn about thesauruses and opera and don’t think for one moment that spending a few years with you has not taught me to identify at least a few obscure Shakespeare quotes and even one or two biblical references. 

 

‘The urban dictionary is hardly Shakespeare.’ James quips and Robbie grins because this is what they’re supposed to be like. It is great to see James back to his usual smartarse self even if he has to trick him to get there. Then again maybe he is the one who has been tricked because James has very effectively steered clear of having to answer Robbie’s question about how he is feeling. 

 

He never does get an answer to his question. The doctor is reluctant to let James go home but after handing James a long list of aftercare instructions that range from diet advice to prescriptions for sleeping pills and heavy duty painkillers, she signs off on the dotted line and Robbie is allowed to take James home.


	11. Chapter 11

Robbie isn’t entirely surprised when he gets into the office on Friday morning to find an email telling him about the mandatory sensitivity training all officers will be expected to partake in. It isn’t particularly subtle but it fits well into the official line that was to be expected after what has just expired. Will it make James life any easier… Robbie isn’t entirely convinced. 

 

He stumbles through another day of mundane jobs while fielding off comments about where James is. Hooper’s ‘How is sergeant Hathaway doing.’ is surprisingly the most polite out of all the questions he gets. It qualifies as down right caring in comparison to Peterson’s ‘Has the brainiac stopped wetting himself?’ and Sergeant Levenstein's ‘Did your pretty boy call in sick today. I think you could do better sir.’

 

After the latter he walks into Innocent’s office trembling with rage ‘You will not believe what Ruby Levenstein just said to me.’ he yelled, feeling like one of those cartoons that had steam coming out of their ears.

 

‘I can imagine, now sit down Robbie.’ Innocent ordered and her tone allowed for no debate.   
I’m going to guess she said something disparaging about James and you went into protective overdrive instead of reporting it like you should have. 

 

‘She implied we were an item, called him a pretty boy, like he was some piece of meat, even had the audacity to tell me I could do better.’ Robbie fumed, restraining the urge to strangle someone. 

 

‘I know there’s a lot to be said for tone of voice but Robbie you’re telling me that a good looking woman complimented your partner on being pretty and then went on to suggest that you were appealing enough that you could do better than said attractive man. Aside from the very dubious assumption that you could in fact be having a sexual relationship with your Sergeant I struggle to see how that is an insult to anyone.’ Innocent said sternly and Robbie’s back turned ramrod straight as he considered what she had just said. 

 

There was no doubt in Robbie’s mind that what the Sergeant has said had been meant to ridicule, to make fun of James and maybe of Robbie as well. And yet now it was spoken out loud it made him sound unreasonable to complain about it. Suddenly he realised just why James hadn’t been reporting these things. Quite aside from James pride getting in the way it was bloody hard to make the intended cruelty come across in a report. His complaint sounded petty and childish and didn’t actually convey any of the obvious intent that had made his stomach twist with anger.

 

‘It’s not right.’ Robbie groaned 

 

‘I know but neither is your report.’ she pulled a document from her desk ‘In February someone tripped James in the pantry, he fell and hit his wrist against the countertop which left it swollen and bruised. I didn’t see it happen and I don’t know who did it but PC White said she saw James trip and she didn’t think he deserved the treatment he was being given. And he tried to hide the injury from me so something was off about it...’ she quotes, ‘Robbie, this is no objective account of anything.’ Jean sighs. ‘And this is only a sample.’

 

Robbie blushes. ‘I’m sorry ma’m, I may have been a bit upset when I wrote that. I’ll revise it.’ he promises. 

 

‘You have every right to be upset Robbie but try to keep your head. You’re not writing this to bring anything to my attention that I don’t know about already. Yesterday was all the proof I needed to believe it is happening. I will act on this without needing you to convince me but if I am to act against specific people I need proper proof, the kind that will hold up in court. Think like a policeman, not a father whose child is being picked on at school.’ She smiles indulgently. 

 

Robbie bristles at the idea of viewing James like a son, he can be protective of the lad without that. Yet it doesn’t seem the time to take that particular fight so he stays quiet.

 

‘Give it time Robbie. Go home early. Swing by Hathaway to make sure he’s coping and then have a good weekend away from it all. As you’ve seen I’ve got someone coming in next week to work on understanding diversity and station team building. It’s a first step.’ Innocent gives him a soft nod toward the door.

 

Robbie might have told her what he thinks of this kind of seminars but he knows it won’t help, and the offer of going to see James is appealing. In all honesty he is longing to be at James’ side so he can make sure the lad is alright, where he can see for himself that no one is hurting him. And that doesn’t make him an overprotective father figure. It just makes him a caring friend, and in that capacity he stands with a resigned ‘Yes Ma’m’ and heads out of the office.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this chapter sort of ran away with me, but I think you will like it Aline.

When Robbie rings the bell to James flat he doesn’t expect James to answer. He knows the lad is prone to hide away like an injured animal in its den but he’s determined to see that the lad is at least partially coping with the past two days. He is surprised therefore when James opens after the first ring. 

He’s in a worn hoodie with one sleeve dangling floppily next to him without an arm in it and the other wet up above the wrist. His hair is standing on end, what little there is of it and it’s also damp around his forehead where a slight sheen of sweat is making it look like he’s just been for a run.

‘Sir?’ he asks incredulously ‘You’re supposed to be at work.’

‘And you’re supposed to be resting. What are you doing?’ Robbie asks, more surprised than reprimanding. 

‘Erhm… a bit of cleaning, a cooking experiment, just keeping busy.’ James explains and Robbie frowns for a minute but doesn’t lecture him on the hospital’s instructions to take it easy, rest his arm and not exert himself overmuch. 

Instead he goes for lighthearted, ‘I thought you discouraged me from experimenting in the kitchen.’ he frowns as he shoulders his way past James and into the flat which smells of roast chicken in Robbie’s humble opinion. 

‘I discouraged you from trying to make bubble and squeak out of the left overs of three different ready meals, that is quite different from my gooducken.’ James explains. 

‘Your what?’ Lewis asks as he hangs his coat up. 

‘I’m making a gooducken. A deboned chicken inside a deboned duck inside a deboned goose, with stuffing between the layers, an american delicacy.’ 

‘Why?’ The question is delivered in a calm detached voice but Robbie can’t help but feel both confused and worried. Who in their right mind goes home and starts a cooking mission to rival Gordon Ramsay on a good day, never mind after having been harassed and having their arm broken.

‘I’ve always wanted to try it. I had the time now, it seemed to make sense… the band has practice and I can’t play so I thought I could bring left overs…. And … and… sorry, I need to sit down.’ Hathaway quite literally flops down on the livingroom floor, voluntarily tucking his head between his knees 

‘Okay Jim, let’s boil this down to the pertinent questions. You have a broken arm and you’re clearly lightheaded, so tell me,, how bad is the pain.’ Robbie demands. 

‘It’s fine as long as I don’t move my arm around or get up very quickly.’ James mumbles from between his knees.

‘Which is exactly why you are sitting still on the sofa for the rest of the day.’ Robbie argues shedding his jacket and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.

‘But my…’ James starts and is interrupted by a very determined Robbie Lewis ‘Your duck thing… you can give me instructions and boss me about, just this once but you’re staying on the sofa.’ Robbie explains and James lifts his head from between his knees to give him a half hearted smile. 

Under James’ instruction Robbie peels potatoes and parsnips and tosses them in a mixture of olive oil and butter in a dish in the oven. He’s just asking about whether the red onions were supposed to be cooked with the potatoes and parsnips or if they were part of the salad when he finds James on the sofa, asleep, with his injured arm tucked protectively against his chest. 

Robbie tucks a blanket around him and pulls a careful hand through his tangled hair only to find James pushing into the touch with a gentle snuffle. It brings Monty to mind. He’d only been a part of Robbie’s life for a very short period of time but the way he relished in affection and craved attention had left an emotional mark on Robbie’s soul. At the time it had brought to mind a kind of kinship, today it was James he saw mirrored in Monty’s painful neediness, not himself. Not that the lad would ever admit to needing affection. That was the problem to begin with. 

He keeps basting the odd creation in James’ oven. It looks like any other roast bird Robbie has seen, and to be fair Val had only ever roasted chickens or turkeys. Still, he assumes the goose in James’ oven looks very much like a goose would look if it did not have a chicken and a duck stuffed inside it. When it’s gone golden brown he takes it out and covers bird and potatoes both with silverfoil before going to sit down on the armrest next to James.

‘James, wake up.’ Robbie urges and is met with a soft groan and a mumbled ‘Mummy my arm hurts.’ which makes him grin despite the declaration of pain. ‘It’s alright, we’ll find you some painkillers to go with that roast you had me finnish. James blinks up at him with wide confused eyes. ‘I’m sorry Robbie, I didn’t mean that, in fact I didn’t mean to fall asleep.’ James tries to explain.

‘It’s fine, it’s what you needed, much better for your recovery than cooking and cleaning… I’ll claim a portion of that mysterious bird I’ve just taken out of your oven as payment, unless your band needs all of it.’ 

‘I’d rather share it with you, the band was kind of an excuse. They tend to like my cooking experiments. The bouillabaisse went down a treat.’ James explains a blush spreading across his cheekbones.

‘I bet it did. Just so you know I’m fairly sure any cooking you may do will go down a treat with me too, however, for the next few months can we stick to take aways because it will be much better for your poor elbow.’ Robbie explains and Jame’s blush deepens.

‘Alright but I’m still making the gravy, I don’t trust you with that.’ James explains.

‘Gravy comes in granules.’ Robbie retorts ‘I think I can mix, granules with water.’

‘And that is why you’re not trusted to make the gravy, you better not have washed the juices from the birds away.’

‘Sorry James. If it’s one thing I was always good at in the kitchen it was cleaning up.’ Robbie responds.

‘You do realise I don’t actually own any gravy granules.’ James explains. 

‘That’s alright, I’ll go and get some from the corner shop.’ Robbie offers.

It’s a surprise to return and find that James’ bird is far superior to anything that Val created. He would never admit as much out loud but the layers of stuffing and meat are of a level he would only ever expect in a restaurant. The only problem is that he’s not sure that it it is entirely a sign of health from James’ point of view. In fact he would probably have prefered to have found James eating beans on toast while lounging on the sofa. Still, it is a pleasant evening and at the end of it he leaves James heading off to bed at the early hour of nine o’clock.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very Robbie centric this time, and an evil cliffhanger

On the Saturday Robbie doesn’t see James. He doesn’t want to crowd the lad but he can’t help but worry. He goes shopping for clothes, something he has been aware of having to do for a long time but has been putting off. He’s promised himself that he will try to be more inspired, that he’ll actually update his wardrobe. A new suit and a new winter jacket was what he’d had in mind when he had put wardrobe shopping in the diary for today. After three hours of wandering the shops he comes home with five pairs of socks and two plain shirts.   
He can’t concentrate on the task at hand and doesn’t seem to be able to explain to the sales assistants what it is he wants. His mind is too filled with James. 

It is no wonder then that come lunch time he gravitates toward ‘The White Horse’ where he orders steak and chips and a pint. He eats in silence more aware than he usually is when on a solitary outing of the absence of anyone to speak to. There is no one next to him by the table with whom he can mull over the conundrum. Possibly more concerning, he is fairly sure that there is no one sat next to James, listening and helping to solve his problems. He wishes he could remedy that, but they don’t talk about their feelings. They talk about work, and abstract questions, and people they know but rarely about real feelings. Yet Robbie has a very painful memory of standing in the middle of the road with a distraught looking James yelling ‘You’re not listening to me!’ at him. 

He hadn’t listened then and where had that left them? With James drugged out of his mind and nearly burnt to death, that is where. Robbie shivers at the thought. It had been one of the most frightening moments in his life, finding James unconscious, pulse too slow, a limp weight over his shoulder as he stumbled through the burning building’s suffocating heat. Of course this time there’s no crazy gender dysmorphic murderer out to kill him but Robbie’s not sure this is any better or will be any easier for James to deal with so he resolves there and then that this time he will be there for James. 

Before leaving the pub he takes out his phone. He’s promised himself he’ll give the lad some space but surely a text message isn’t too intrusive. 

‘How are you feeling today?’ Robbie. He sends off.

‘Better, not as light headed.’ James returns. Well it’s better than just a ‘Fine’ which is what he’d feared.

‘I’m here if you need to talk.’ He offers nervously.

‘Thank u. I’m fine. Will see u @ work Mon. Tlk then.’ Text speak… honestly? James never uses text speak. And work on Monday, surely that is far too early. However Robbie doesn’t miss out on the offer of actually talking, though knowing James that could mean any number of things. Robbie imagines alternatives along the line of a lecture on how one can cope with bullies, or probably some impenetrable poetry. On second thought some nonsense about an afterlife and how James will get his comeuppance there is possibly the most likely. There’s definitely food for thought here. Figuring out a way to help James is vastly more interesting than shopping for clothes. Robbie has no problem therefore to visit Blackwell’s on his way home to pick up some books on bullying. 

There were a lot of books to choose from, ‘A Unified Theory of Work Place Harassment: Psychodynamics of Adult Bullying and Mobbing’ by a spanish sounding chap sounds like the kind of thing James would have picked as does ‘Confronting the Demon: A Gospel Response to Adult Bullying’, Robbie shudders to think what that might be about, ‘Water off a duck’s back’ sounds rather banal, ‘Adult Bullying: Perpetrators and Victims sounds promising though but who is he to know. In the end he gets a copy of every single book on adult bullying in Blackwell’s including two on Workplace Harassment and one on Cyberbullying because that is something he hadn’t even thought about and the idea of the things that might have gone on behind his back are just terrifying. 

He goes home, sticks his new socks and shirts in the right drawers and then settles down with a cup of tea and the first book. He knows he doesn’t read like James reads. He doesn’t have the mind of an academic and therefore can’t pick out the pertinent facts from ten different books in a few hours. He’ll start with the one that is top of the pile and work his way down the list. By Monday at least he should have gotten through a few of them if he keeps at it and maybe have some good ideas about how to tackle the problem. 

He takes a break for dinner, a microwave meal that James would surely turn his nose up at after last night’s feast. Then he’s back at it again, this time with a bottle of beer and a CD playing softly in the background. It is not fun reading and a lot of it is not as relevant as he would like. In fact a lot of it is drivel about mindsets and attitudes, but some of it is really quite useful and some of it is shocking. The chapter on Passive Bullies nearly has him in tears because this is so close to what he has been. He’s known what has been going on but apart from occasional questioning of a remark or two and once urging James that he should report it he has turned a blind eye and that makes him almost as bad as the people criticising James and making nasty jokes about him. 

Sunday morning Robbie feels a little better for having actually found a practical way to improve their situation. He may not have a plan yet but he is learning about the problem. It is after all a bit like solving a crime, every new piece of the puzzle brings him one step closer to figuring out who’s done it. He makes a bacon sarnie for breakfast and then because making something so calorific puts him in mind of Lyn he calls her. They speak for ages. He tells her about James and the drama at work. She tells him about her family, school outings, their plans for Easter and the fact that she’s thinking of going back to work part time. They don’t stop speaking until Robbie’s phone beeps annoyingly to signal that the battery is about to die. He puts it on charge in his bedroom, ready to wake him up in the morning, picks up the pile of books and settles himself on the sofa with another pot of tea and of all things one of Morse’s old Wagner records. 

After dinner, pasta with half a jar of ready made carbonara sauce and two tomatoes sliced up to make the whole thing more healthy he decides he can get away with calling James. He’ll ask him about tomorrow, see if he really is intending to come in the office and offer to pick him up if that is the case. The lad can’t drive and he can probably do with Robbie’s moral support. When he picks up the phone there is a missed call, just one, from James and a recorded message. 

‘I’m sorry Robbie. I can’t…’ James’ voice is thick and muffled hitching like he is trying not to cry. ‘I can’t do this, not any more....’ there’s a moment’s hesitation then a shuddery breath ‘I’m not going to be there tomorrow. I can’t live with the shame of all of them knowing.’ And then James just hangs up. Robbie’s heart grows cold, what is this? Is James telling him that he’s leaving the force, leaving Oxford? But that last sentence ‘I can’t LIVE with the shame’, what if he’s doing more than leaving. Robbie punches James’ speed dial and hears it go to voicemail, three times. By the time he hears James’ voicemail click on for the third time he is in the car turning the ignition.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok I admit that this is absolute rubbish just to mentally get us from the end of the last chapter to the start of the next.

There is no such thing as good traffic in Oxford. The city isn’t built for modern day demands and as Robbie weaves his way through the labyrinth of narrow streets he finds himself feeling like he is indeed in a medieval wagon of some sort, he is moving so slowly. He’s not sure what he’s afraid of finding. The images that pass through his mind are illogical and at the same time entirely relevant. He remembers Ralph Graham with his brain blown out. He remembers Jane Templeton, already long past saving when they turned up to find her. He is driving like a madman through narrow streets and cursing the lack of a blue lights on his car. James has always looked uncomfortable around suicides, like they somehow hit too close to home. Robbie in return has made assumptions, presuming that there must have been some personal experience of the subject even before Will and the whole phoenix disaster. Now entirely new ideas filter through Robbie’s mind as he crawls through traffic. What if James isn’t uncomfortable with suicide because someone he knows has killed themselves or because of religious sensibilities… what if it’s because he’s thought of doing it himself. Has it been, not disapproval, but jealousy that was painted across James’ features each time his brow contorted in a concerned frown when someone had chosen to leave this world. 

It doesn’t bare thinking about and yet Robbie is incapable of doing anything but. The part of his brain that is still a detective inspector is telling him in no uncertain terms that he is overreacting, and yet they seem to be getting swamped by the swell of emotions that is nothing at all to do with his brain and everything to do with his heart. James is too good to be beaten down by something as stupid and pointless as office hazing. 

He parks on a double yellow line. Traffic regulations are the least of his worries and it’s the only spot available. It’s only when he gets to the front door that he realises that he doesn’t have any means of getting into the flat. He rings the bell for a solid minute before he gives up. For a second he considers calling out a patrol car to break down the door but it would take too long, instead he settles for a spot of house breaking. It is a blessing that James is fond enough of high ceilings to have gotten a bottom floor flat. It allows Robbie the opportunity to throw a large rock through his living room window before awkwardly and highly uncomfortably climbing up the drainpipe to crawl through the window. 

There should be something faintly ridiculous about being so worried that he’s breaking and entering to get into James’ flat, yet when he’s finally standing upright inside James livingroom panting with exertion there is nothing even remotely funny about the situation. 

 

James is curled up in a surprisingly small ball on the sofa, face tucked into its back and legs pulled up to his chest.. On the table is James phone and laptop but also a dog eared bible and an almost empty bottle of Glenlivet. The fact that he hasn’t reacted to either the doorbell or to Robbie smashing his window and climbing through it makes any question of whether he is alright or not rather pointless. 

Robbie pushes the table out of the way and crouches down next to James, shaking his shoulder gently. 

‘Wake up James.’ he urges as he gently slaps James cheek but it has no effect at all. James is out cold. He presses trembling fingers to James’ neck and feels a steady thumping. That at least is a relief. James face is cold to the touch but as Robbie manhandles him onto his back for better access he lets out what could possibly be interpreted as a groan and is certainly a living sound regardless of its purpose. 

It’s with a certain level of regret that Robbie phones for an ambulance and states a suspected overdose as the medical emergency. There are no pills on the table, no empty pill bottle or blister pack anywhere in sight but that doesn’t mean that James hasn’t taken them. Robbie knows that James had been prescribed both sleeping pills and sedatives but he had no idea what form they came in or where James had kept them. If there had been an empty bottle or blister packs he would have known for sure. Perhaps the absence of such evidence proves that James hasn’t tried to kill himself… and yet if that is the case then why won’t he wake up. 

Robbie has no chance of getting James to the bathroom in order to make him throw up but he manhandles him onto his back and then his side before sticking his fingers down James’ throat. It requires him shoving half his hand into James mouth before he starts heaving. 

What comes up is amber in colour and smells more of whiskey than of bile. No sign of half dissolved pills but that could mean any number of things. Once he’s started heaving James needs no more encouragement to keep on emptying his stomach and once he starts throwing up on his own his eye open fractionally and he grasps ineffectually at Robbie’s arm. ‘

‘That’s it…’ Robbie reassures ‘... just get it up…’. And James heaves and heaves but in the end he slumps back against Robbie breathing shallowly, eyelids fluttering erratically.   
‘Come on, stay with me.’ Robbie urges but it is no use, as soon as he stops throwing up James is once again a dead weight in Robbie’s arms. 

It seems like an eternally long wait even though it is less than ten minutes until the ambulance arrives. Robbie is rendered effectively useless as the paramedics arrive and take charge. It is a relief but also horribly frustrating. 

He stands absentmindedly wiping his sick covered hand on his trousers as he watches them check James vitals. They ask him questions and he answers to the best of his ability. His name’s James, he’s 33 years old and his blood type is B positive, and why on earth does he know that. James must have told him for some esoteric reason and it has stuck in his mind. Unfortunately Robbie doesn’t have a clue what he might have taken, if he’s allergic to anything or if he normally has low blood pressure. 

Medical jargon washes over him but only the odd snippet makes sense. ‘Normal pupil dilation’ sounds good, ‘breathing compromised’ decidedly not and he stares in horror as one of the medics sticks a tube down James’ throat.

‘He is breathing, we’re just helping him along a bit.’ The medic explains with a patient smile. ’Do you know how much he’s had to drink?’ Robbie shakes his head. It’s been awhile since he last had a drink at James’ place and he can’t honestly remember when he last drank whiskey in this flat, he couldn’t even hazard a guess. 

‘BP’s 70 over 40, let’s get him on a stretcher and on some saline.’ the second medic suggests and it’s not long before James is on his back on the stretcher with a drip attached being wheeled out of his apartment to the waiting ambulance. 

It’s disorienting, it’s simultaneously so very scientific and medical, and at the same time incredibly emotional, illogical and overwhelming. Once they’re in the ambulance, no sirens needed and James asleep on the stretcher, the medic sits down and tucks a blanket around Robbie’s shoulders. “We’ll take good care of him. Don’t quote me on this but it’s not painkillers and I doubt it’s sleeping pills either… he’s probably just swallowed too many vitamins with an entire bottle of whiskey. He’s exhibiting all the signs of alcohol poisoning.” The medic pats Robbie’s arm and then rubs it gently before going back to check on James. 

An unexpected calm has settled in the time it takes them to drive to the John Radcliffe. There is no real urgency when they wheel James away and yet Robbie slumps in the waiting room chairs with a feeling of slight desperation. He can’t even say that he should have seen this coming… he bloody well did see this coming… he just chose to close his eyes… and that is when he finally finds himself crying… with James whisked away and the books he has been reading over the weekend useless on his coffee table back in the flat.  
‘


	15. Chapter 15

The wait is excruciating but when they finally come to get him it is with both good and bad news. James’ tox screen shows nothing more exotic than a large quantity of alcohol. The lad is blind drunk with a blood alcohol of 0.38. Unfortunately that is not as safe as your average night out would suggest. James is still on a ventilator.The doctor explains that unlike with opioid overdoses there is no antidote to alcohol, all they can do is wait for James’ body to detox itself. 

This should have prepared Robbie for the sight that met him when the nurse holds open the door to James’ room but it hasn’t. Alcohol poisoning should have been the lesser of two evils but that doesn’t feel right when James is tucked up in bed with a tube down his throat, matching the sheets for pallor. 

Robbie slumps in the chair next to the bed and settles in for what he knows will be a long wait. He will need to call Innocent but he figures he may as well wait until the morning. Perhaps if he is lucky he will have better news to deliver by then. 

James left hand is resting next to him on the bed. Lovely elegant fingers limply spread across the hospital blanket. It seems somehow wrong and yet entirely right for Robbie to reach out and grasp them. They don’t hold hands, it’s not part of the job description, and yet right now clinging onto anything that is warm and alive and James seems desperately right.

James once jokingly told him that holding hands with someone who is unconscious is like clutching a dead fish. He couldn’t have been more wrong. James hand is limp and cool to the touch but that is where the comparison ends. It’s dry and soft and it slowly warms in Robbie’s grasp until it feels like an extension of himself, a bit like when James will finish his sentences for him because he knows so well what Robbie is about to say. 

That is when it dawns on him, not only does he not want James to die, he doesn’t want him to leave the job either, in fact he probably wouldn’t stay in the job if James chooses to leave. Or if he doesn’t survive this a darker part of his mind supplements. The doctor had been very clear that there were no guarantees. If James’ body can rid itself of the poison that alcohol inevitably is there is every chance that he will recover and be back on his feet in a couple of days. However, he could end up never starting to breath properly again, never waking up, or he could wake up with irreversible brain damage if his breathing had been compromised for long enough.. Yes it’s a worst case scenario but it can’t be ruled out entirely. 

These thoughts plague Robbie as he sits and watches the slow steady rise and fall of James’ chest. The room is quiet. On the telly ventilators and heart monitors are always noisy: huffing and beeping to signal the existence or absence of life. Not so here. The sound of air being pushed into James’ uncooperative lungs is so soft Robbie can barely hear it if he puts his ear against his mouth, and the heart monitor is digital and apparently only makes a noise if something is wrong. Thus the silence should be soothing and to an extent it is. It allows Robbie’s mind to wander.

He thinks about James, about how little he really knows about the lad. He thinks about Val and Morse and how he never had the chance to sit like this with them. And then he chastises himself for those thoughts because James will not end up like Val and Morse. He will wake up and they will go back to work and Robbie will make sure that no one ever says a bad word about him ever again. 

Fretting over whether that is unrealistic or not keeps him awake beyond midnight but coming down from the adrenaline high of the evening’s stress combined with the quiet peace of the room eventually lulls him to sleep. 

He wakes at three to a doctor turning the ventilator down and telling him James is improving as his body processes the alcohol in his system. This cheers him and he sits and stares at James, mind wandering erratically from his family to his work and back again, but always landing in the end on the lad in front of him who has ended up somehow being a little bit of both. 

The doctor is back again at seven to turn the ventilator down to it’s lowest setting while a nurse offers him a cup of tea. The panic has dissipated from the room but Robbie finds himself embarrassingly unable to not keep touching James. He will get up to stare out the window absentmindedly but soon returns to squeeze James’ shoulder and mumble pointless reassurances and by eight o’clock he is once again asleep in the chair with James’ hand tightly clasped in his. 

James surfaces to consciousness to the primary awareness that something is stuck in his throat. He tries to swallow but somehow it doesn’t quite work. His mouth is so dry it feels like sandpaper. He blinks gravely eyes open and blank white walls and a light blue curtain slowly come into focus. He feels awful, his head hurts, he feels frightfully anxious and the thing in his throat is horribly uncomfortable, so hospital again it is then. Something must have gone terribly wrong, or more terribly wrong than it already had.

Robbie is asleep in a chair next to his bed one hand resting limply on top of James’ own and awareness of where he is suddenly dawns on James. He had been freaking out about work. There had been another panic attack in the afternoon and when he’d finally managed to calm down he’d hit the bottle. He wasn’t sure quite what had happened after that, only that at some point he had decided that he wasn’t going back to work and despairing over yet another ruined career and even worse the loss of the respect of those people he cared most about. Robbie had been so kind and yet James had no doubt that what had transpired in the office the night before was bound to be affecting how he viewed James. In a worst case scenario it will be compounded by whatever disaster last night involved in order to get him here.

What the hell happened last night. The only parts of him that hurt are above neckline so it seems unlikely that he would have taken a drunken tumble and broken something. Somewhat more likely is the concept that he may in fact have either ingested the entire contents of his medical cabinet or hung himself from the bedroom lamp hook. He remembers ruling such an option out in the early hours of the evening as unpredictable, sinful and not fair on Robbie who would likely find him. 

And yet here Robbie is, sitting at James’ bedside like that night after Sophie Kenneth and the fire which can mean only one thing; James has once again fucked up Royally. Fresh waves of self loathing suffocates him making his chest feel tight and constricted. He pulls his hand out from under Robbie’s and clutches at whatever is stuck in his throat, convinced it is suffocating him. Somewhere the thin wail of an alarm goes off and it only helps to compound the anxiety that James by now knows to identify as a panic attack but doesn’t know how to stop. Robbies eyes fly open and within seconds he’s on his feet holding James’ hands down and speaking words that don’t really register. The voice is soothing though. Soft and gentle but steady as a rock and James calms enough to take in what the pretty nurse, who has just appeared, is saying. 

The nurse helps him to pace his breathing and as he takes one deep breath after another Robbie settles at the top of the bed gently carding a hand through his short blonde hair. This more than the breathing instructions helps to settle him and calm his racing heart and laboured breathing. The alarm quietens down and the nurse gives him a dazzling smile. 

‘If you just keep breathing calmly I’ll be back with the doctor to see if we can’t take this tube out. She was already talking about taking you off the ventilator and now that you’re awake I’m sure she will.‘ the nurse promises with a cheerful pat on his arm. 

James blinks up at Robbie unable to speak round the tube yet asking a million questions with wide worried eyes. 

‘You’ll be alright. You had too much to drink, ended up overdosing on whiskey. Only you would manage to OD on single malt.’ Robbie explains and James breathes a sigh of relief.  
‘When they brought you in you were barely breathing but they’ve turned the ventilator down since then and started talking about taking it out about an hour ago so I think you’re out of the woods now.’ Robbie babbles on. 

‘Don’t you ever do that to me again. You scared me half to death. Why didn’t you just call me if you were feeling miserable. I would have come to help.’ he rambles on and James wants to respond.He silently curses the plastic contraption in his mouth because he wants to tell Robbie that there was nothing he could have done to help, and didn’t James call? He has a vague memory of calling Robbie and getting no response. Then again maybe that was just something James imagined doing, that would hardly be unprecedented. He doesn’t normally ask for help. In fact it would have been highly out of character if that phone call was ever actually made. And yet here Robbie is.

He finally falls silent at James side, a stormy look in his eyes that James can’t interpret. They wait in silence after that. What is there to say? Soon the doctor will be back to give James his voice back, and they will straighten out the facts like they always do.The world will be back to it’s non drunken state and there will be no more holding hands and no phoning Robbie in the middle of the night when he want to escape from the world.

As Robbie sits down in the chair, hands twisting lightly in his lap James buries his head in the too thin pillow and wishes, not for the first time, that his parents had never met.


	16. Chapter 16

‘How do you feel?’ the kind doctor who has just removed the ventilator asks.

‘Head and throat hurt. Very confused.’ James admits.

‘I’ll get you something for the pain, I suspect your friend can fill you in on what happened.’ she promises.

‘Do you remember me telling you you’d overdosed on whiskey last night?’ Robbie asks.

‘I think so… sort of...it’s kind of foggy.’

Do you remember what caused you to drink that much?’ Robbie pushes.

‘I wanted to kill myself, but it would be a sin. I wanted to see you, wanted to know that going to work tomorrow wouldn’t be the nightmare that it feels like, that someone actually wanted me to come back. I tried to call you but you didn’t pick up and I’d already had too much to drive over.’ James eyes are suddenly wet and shiny, wide and vulnerable and it’s pure instinct that makes Robbie clutch at the lads hand.

‘Of course I want you to come back you silly sod. Couldn’t do the job without you. You’re the best thing to happen to me since Val and the kids.’ Robbie promises and suddenly it is all too much for James. His eyes brim over and the hand Robbie’s clutching starts to tremble. 

‘I love the job and I love working with you but I can’t do it. I’m too scared, the worms and the spiders I can take but the way Martell touched me… I can’t do that again… I can’t.’  
Robbie stared at the upset young man next to him. ‘Mortmaigne?’ he asks gently as he pulls his hand back fearful that it will be interpreted as intrusive.

‘Yes.’ It’s barely a whisper from James but the acknowledgement is still startling.

‘I know that makes me disgusting, he spoiled me. That’s why I didn’t want anyone to know.’ James whispers, looking at Robbie’s withdrawn hand, his own held close to his chest as though trying to stave of a heart attack. 

‘You’re not disgusting and he hasn’t spoiled you. If I ever make you feel that way… I know we get quite close sometimes but if I ever make you uncomfortable you have to tell me… I’d never ever want to hurt you.’ Robbie promises and James’ hand reaches out to catch his even before he’s stopped speaking. 

‘You never would. I want you to be close to me. It makes it all better. When you sit next to me, when you hold my hand it makes doing those things seem less dirty, more like something I like to do. Martell was different, he doesn’t understand me like you do, he did it to hurt. You do like me, don’t you?’ James gasps through a sore,worn throat.

‘Of course I like you, you stupid sod.’ Robbie promises before he very carefully and gently leans forward and wraps James in his arms. ‘Tell me if this is not alright. You’re me best friend and I’m worried about you. I want to show you that I care but I don’t want to stir up old memories’

‘It’s very alright.’ James mumbles as he reaches up struggling weakly to return the hug. ‘I want to be safe, please stay, you make me feel safe.’ James stiffens in in his arms as he realises what he’s just said.

‘You’re alright. Anything I can do.You said I make you feel safe. I’ve not been able to keep you safe lately have I. I want to make sure no one hurts you in the future’ Robbie promises and it’s like opening a dam, James eyes start to well and suddenly he’s sobbing into Robbies shoulder in a manner quite unlike his restrained Sergeant.

‘Sorry, sorry, shouldn’t let them get to me.’ James mumbles as his tears gradually soaks Robbies shoulder. 

‘Our Lyn was hazed for a couple of weeks during her A levels, put her in a right state even though it was only a few weeks… how long have they been doing this to you? I know it’s at least nine months since the incident with the worm sandwich.’ Robbie clarifies, just in case James plans to start pretending this is a recent development.

‘Years. It started with mild teasing from Hooper, the odd comment in the coffee room but Martell has been stepping it up. I think he might like me but I don’t think he likes liking me… and I haven’t been reciprocating… it seems to make him angry. I have no evidence that it’s him, just a hunch, and lots of touching… unwanted touching.’ James admits and it takes all of Robbie’s restraint not to pull away because James is curled up as close as he can get to Robbie’s side and he has just said that Robbie makes him feel safe but how do you hold someone who’s just admitted to wanting to kill themselves because of repeated sexual abuse without feeling like a horrible old pervert. 

‘I told you back at Crevecoer Hall and I’ll tell you again. None of it is your fault. You’re not to blame for this, any of this.’ Robbie clarifies. He’s not comforted to find an increasingly exhausted James gradually going limp in his arms as his tears continue to soak Robbie’s shirt. 

‘Please stay.’ are the last words whispered from a raw throat before James succumbs to sleep or unconsciousness and Robbie knows suddenly that there is no way he will make it into work in the near future. He’ll take all the leave he has owing and even resign if necessary in order to sit by James’ side when he wakes again. Even leaving for long enough to call Innocent and let her know he’ll need to take leave for a few days feels like a betrayal. She’s not happy when she hears Robbie’s request especially not when he informs her that James nearly killed himself drinking and is back in hospital, but after Robbie’s ‘He cried on my shoulder and asked me not to leave him. You know how reserved he is, what it must have taken for him to do that. He’s as close to me as family, please.’ she relents. 

‘Take the week, both of you. Look after him. I’ll book him an appointment with a counselor later in the week.’ 

Robbie wonders if he should tell her about Martell and the sexual abuse but decides it’s not his place. It’s so intimately tangled up with Mortmaigne and Robbie doesn’t think James would want him to share the secret he’s held on to for so long with anyone else. Not that the cartoon hadn’t gone some way to revealing it already but it’s still James’ secret to tell. Instead he rings off and picks up a book from the bookshelf in the hallway to distract himself as he waits for James to wake up again. 

He doesn’t get much reading done. Instead he sits and watches James sleep enjoying the now less even rise and fall of James’ natural breathing.


End file.
